


I Do

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Gen, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Seemingly unrequited love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t see how putting my head in a yoke with some rich heiress as a solution to Kingsman’s problems.”</p><p>Harry agrees to marry to alleviate Kingsman's debt and doesn't quite understand why everyone seems agitated by this decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [futuredescending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuredescending/gifts).



“So, what, I should be wed to the highest bidder?” Harry scoffs, not believing this shit. It isn’t even nine o’clock in the morning yet.

“Arthurs traditionally marry people in high places,” Merlin says, then gives his tablet a few taps before projecting a few faces on the screen that sits neatly above the fireplace. “Look at Chester King. He married a distant relative of British royalty that’s been funding Kingsman for nearly thirty years. Until, of course, she died and left no heirs, leaving her fortune swept away by the government.”

“Chester King shouldn’t be the epitome of a role model which I should follow.” The fact that Chester had willingly agreed to stand aside and allow Valentine to commit genocide makes his stomach queasy, but the footage of Chester deftly tipping poison into a single glass of whiskey never fails to make his fists clench. “And I don’t see how putting my head in a yoke with some rich heiress as a solution to Kingsman’s problems.”

“Financially, for one. Chester drained a lot of our accounts to help Valentine fund his SIM cards and as a…show of good faith in his new world, and not to mention, most of our investors are either dead without heirs or pulling out.”

“Pulling out? Why?”

Merlin winces. “One rang us this morning himself and demanded why, with all of our technology and scope, that we had been unable to prevent the slaughter of millions.”

“We—” Harry starts to say, but ends up simply shaking his head. He can’t say a word against it and feel like a hypocrite if he did. “I can understand his reasoning.”

His friend sighs. “He lost his wife of forty years, both of his children, and his father just was taken off life support late last night. I can hardly blame the man for reacting as he did.” He then brings up another picture on the screen—this time, a pretty woman with striking dark eyes and a serious expression. 

In other circumstances, Harry would have been pleased to see the face of his old friend.

“Gianna Giuggioli? From the Italian branch?”

“The very one. She’s offered to significantly help us in our time of need, and—not to be crass—since much of her family and friends perished during V-Day, she received a lot of inheritance and properties that she’s seized as Kingsman assets. Certainly enough to get us back on our feet.”

Harry resists making an ungentlemanly snort. “And to do that, she wants an alliance? To an old man with one eye and who can’t get through an evening without a bottle of scotch and nightmares? I know I’m Arthur, but _honestly_.”

Merlin’s mouth turns down in worry. “Have Morgana’s sessions not helped much?”

“It is I who can’t seem to get the notion that I am to blame.”

_“Harry—“_

“It was the bloody signal, I know, and I couldn’t have known Chester would have betrayed us like this, yes. But—“ Harry swallows once, twice. “I lost control that day, Merlin. I’ve never—“

Morgana’s words come back to him: _You value control. You might be impulsive at times, but you crave everything to go as you wish. Look at your butterfly collection, your routine, your being late all the time._

 _But I’ve never done something so terrible,_ Harry had said, though that could have easily been a falsehood. There had been a fair share of missions where he’d immediately gone home, opened a bottle of whiskey, and drained it all, wondering why it was in his hands make decisions. Precious few ones had been because he’d made the wrong choice or fate had been quicker than he.

But Harry had _made_ those choices or had planned an alternative one before things went to shit. When he first walked into that church, Harry had never thought of killing anyone, except for Valentine and Gazelle if they happened to show up. He had certainly never expected for that terrible signal to rob him of every ounce of control that had been born and nurtured in him.

Harry tells Morgana about his dreams, of reliving that same nightmare over and over. He tells her the shame he feels when his soft gasps wake Eggsy in the next room over or when he flinches at the high-pitched shrill of the teakettle. He even tells her about the first night, when at the hesitant creak of his bedroom door, Harry, sweat sticking to his thin shirt and aching forehead, had trained the gun he kept on his nightstand at a startled Eggsy.

How, mercifully, he’d quickly realized that Valentine was dead, that his blueprints and devices had been destroyed, that nothing like that can hurt him again, and how Eggsy sat down with him on his bed and gently put the gun back on the nightstand and rubbed his back.

What he doesn’t tell Morgana is that Eggsy often stars in his nightmares. It plays out in two different scenarios: either Harry wakes up before his dream self can feel remorse at what he’s done or that he _realizes_ and drops his weapon and holds Eggsy as he bleeds out in that chaotic, hateful church.

“Harry—” Merlin now begins to say, but Harry stands up, turning away from the screen that still displays Gianna’s profile.

“Forgive me, Merlin, but I’m going to step out for a while to get some air. Call Gianna and tell her she can come here or I can go to her.”

As Harry shuts the door behind him, he concludes this: he cannot tell Eggsy about the impending nuptials. Remembering Eggsy’s soft, concerned eyes and his steady hands moving up and down Harry’s back, Harry knows that the boy would try to save him.

* * *

Unfortunately, Eggsy found out about it anyway.

“You’re getting _married_?” he demands, strolling into Harry’s office and refusing to take the offered chair in front of the desk.

Harry sees no point in denying it. “Yes,” he says, putting aside his pen, preparing for a row that involved lots of shouting and a sneaky comment from Percival, whose office was right down the hall, about _domestics._

The next words come out quietly: “Do you love her?”

“We’ve known each other for such a long time.” Harry pauses. “We’re compatible: of the same age and background and careers. Well-matched, and we can both offer each other many long-term benefits.”

Eggsy wrinkles his nose. “It’s like you’re talking about some business transaction.”

In a way, it is. “Romance isn’t just based in passion; it’s also rooted in partnership.”

“And you…want this?”

Harry looks at the documents he’s meant to finish before the day is done and mentally sighs at yet another finance report. “It’s not as if we’ve been involved with other people in years, and it’s not likely we’re going to meet our so-called loves of our lives, either. Not with this job. Might as well…be with the person you know most.” 

Eggsy normally has no problem saying what comes to mind, but this time, his lips purse and his eyes narrow with the outbursts that are surely clamoring for space on his tongue. Harry waits for what seems like ages, as Eggsy opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “When’s the wedding, then?” he finally asks, sounding resigned.

“Two weeks.”

“So soon?”

“You don’t understand.”

“ _I_ don’t understand?” Eggsy demands, and Harry thinks, _Ah, there it is._ “You’re the one who’s just marrying for the sake of some—some fucking misplaced notion that you’re not going to find the…the one! This isn’t _Bridget Jones_ or some shit—you can’t shack up with the first person who offers—”

 _To protect Kingsman._ Harry wants to snap. _Do you wish for yourself to go back on the streets? To not being able to provide for your family? You’ve just bought your mother and little sister a new flat, along with school tuition, a car, and more besides. What will you tell her when those things can no longer be paid for?_

But Harry can’t hurt Eggsy this way, not again, nor can he threaten Eggsy’s future like this. To back out of this arrangement is dishonorable, not to mention that this would mean dooming Kingsman—and _Eggsy—permanently._

The young man then laughs harshly, and Harry realizes he still hasn’t replied to Eggsy’s tirade. “I guess this means I’ll have to move out.”

“Eggsy—” Harry says, surprised, because he hasn’t given thought to that at all: no longer making breakfast for two, no longer waving when Eggsy takes JB out for a walk, no longer watching another cheesy flick on the telly.

“You know what, Harry? No. It wouldn’t be appropriate, seeing you’re going to be a married man and all, and that I can simply move in with my mum. Or Roxy. Or even find a place of my own. But I’m not going to watch you do this to yourself. I just can’t.”  

Harry watches Eggsy leave and does not beg him to come back.

* * *

“So…” Gianna drums her fingertips on the table. She looks different from what Harry remembers from a year ago, with more lines on her face and a painful-looking scar across her neck, which, she’d wearily explained, had happened when one of her agents tried to slit her throat when the signal went off. “Marriage.” 

“It wasn’t the most romantic proposal, I know.” 

“You called it a _proposition_.” 

“It technically is.” Harry winces, taking a sip of his tea. “I apologize, Gianna, for my callousness.” 

“I’m quite used to it, as I‘m sure you’re used to mine, Dandelion.” 

Harry’s quite pleased that he managed to systematically delete every picture of his youth, but is reminded that his old friend still has more of the embarrassing ones as blackmail. “What a pair we would make. I imagine we’d strangle each other before we got to the marriage bed.” 

Gianna then frowns, folding her hands on the table. “Ah, yes, about that. I talked to Merlin on the plane, and he…he mentioned…well, I don’t want to get in the way of anything, if you know what I mean.” 

Harry startles. “Do you mean _Eggsy_? No, no, it’s not like that. Not at all.” He feels as if he’s in uni again, fending off George’s teasing comments about the Spanish foreign exchange student’s winks at him during Medieval History. 

“Harry,” she says slowly, “he lives in your _house_. And don’t go telling me he’s your roommate because you haven’t had one since Merlin, back in ‘98, and you swore to live alone since then.” 

“It’s all rather complicated,” Harry explains wearily, wondering if the arrangement is over before it ever really began. “The agency thought I died and gave my house to Eggsy, who inherited my title. And when I came back, I couldn’t very well kick him out of the house.” 

His friend raises her eyebrows. “In all the years I’ve known you, I would assume that you would indeed have no problem tossing him out. Kingsman pays quite well, and you do love your privacy. I’m sure Merlin would have found him a flat.”

Harry has many perfectly logical reasons to counter this, but what comes out is “He’s not so bad.” 

“Not so bad? That’s faint praise if I ever heard it.”

“That is not what I meant. Eggsy has gone through so much in such a young life, but he’s…he’s so loyal and kind and strong, a true knight in Kingsman. He exemplifies what it is like to not only be a gentleman, but also a man, and although I’ve mentored him, there are some things I never could have taught him. But he’s also—” Harry stops, just as Gianna’s expression morphs into a familiar smirk. “What is it now?”

“Oh, nothing. I just can see it all perfectly, Harry.” 

Her tone seems amused, laced with something he can’t quite make out, and it irritates him. “Gianna, say what you mean.” 

“You’re an idiot,” Gianna only says, refusing to elaborate on it for the rest of their meeting. 

* * *

“You’re actually doing this,” Merlin says slowly. “You’re actually marrying her.”

“I don’t see why you keep telling me this.” Harry rubs at his temples. Gianna had, after a few negotiations, agreed to it. Both of them didn’t want a large fuss, so the wedding would be here on the grounds, in front of the mansion. They’d also come up with separate living arrangements, since his position as Arthur in the UK and her same one in Italy would make sharing a house rather difficult. In essence, it would be nothing different from their friendship, except for the rings both of them had picked out rather hastily at a jeweler’s.  

He thought Eggsy would be relieved at not having to pack his things when Harry told him all of this, but Eggsy had, quite pointedly, informed him that his mum was making the guest room into a proper bedroom for him and that his sister was already counting down the days Eggsy would move in.

Their time together in that house was filled with so much tension that Harry entertained the relief that would sweep over him when Eggsy left to do some shopping, walk JB, or report to headquarters. But he often found himself looking at the clock, waiting for Eggsy to come home, and would curse himself for this self-flagellation.

Tomorrow, Harry hopes, this will all be over. The tuxedo is hanging in its bag in his closet. His oxfords are polished. The guests—those who had no missions—are settled in London. He knows the exact schedule of the day, the lines he must say, and the different things he can do to distract himself from Eggsy—Eggsy, who had finished his mission earlier than planned and who would be sitting in one of the seats, watching Harry get married.

“I—it was—” Merlin looks on the verge of throwing his hands up in the air. “ _Bollocks_ , Harry. I can’t believe it.”

“It won’t change anything,” Harry says wearily, feeling as if he’s repeated it too many times—to Eggsy, to Percival, to Roxy, to anyone who raised an eyebrow over his new status. “Gianna is flying back to Italy after the festivities, I will still be here, and Kingsman will be operating as usual. Now, come on, Merlin. Let me sleep. I have a big day tomorrow.”

* * *

The music begins, and everyone rises. Harry refuses to look at Merlin, who’s been surprisingly silent this entire time, or Eggsy, who’d been staring so intently at him that Roxy kept poking him. He watches Gianna make her way down the aisle, clutching a bouquet of roses and lilies, hair swept over her bare shoulders. She looks at Harry, gives a quick nod, and when she reaches him, lightly steps onto the raised platform.

Harry’s breath should have caught at the sight of her resplendent gown, her slightly-nervous smile, and her eyes fastened on his. He should have felt the swell of love when the minister cleared his throat and began to speak. He should have looked back at the audience and smiled, wiping away stray tears or beaming at his bride-to-be.

But all he can think of Eggsy, in his suit and neatly-parted hair and fingers clenched tightly over the seat in front of him.

“Harold Fitzwilliam Hart,” the minister now proclaims, “do you take Gianna Lucia Giuggioli to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Harry opens his mouth.

Marriage is a sacred practice, but even in present times, it is not for such notions as the ever-so-sought-after “true love.” Harry had grown up around circles of whispering women and chin-stroking men, glancing over at their children laughing nearby and murmuring phrases that began with _most advantageous_ and _unite our two families._ His own grandmother would steer him towards the occasional pretty girl in a frock, urging, _there’s someone you might like,_ until Harry had been caught—more accurately, had allowed himself to get caught—with Lord Chambers’s son behind one of the garden hedges.

Harry, although he hated to admit it, liked the idea of finding someone to settle down with, but those notions had been slowly fading away ever since he joined Kingsman. Many civilian relationships had ended in accusations of cheating or unwillingness to commit, while ones within the tangled spy world ended in occasional, meaningless shags or—at the very worst—betrayal.

Harry had long accepted that perhaps he was meant to die alone, and thus, threw himself into work with gusto until he knew of nothing else.

Until he met Eggsy.

 _Eggsy_. 

What would it be like to have Eggsy standing here in his own tuxedo? Having Eggsy recite vows that spoke of love and _til death do us part_? Having Eggsy wake up with him in their bed, kissing him before rolling out of bed to make breakfast, running with him to catch another super villain trying to blow up the world?

If he said yes, he’d never know. 

“You know what?” Harry says. “I can’t fucking do this.” He turns to Gianna, ignoring the surprised gasps from the audience. “I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, she simply grins. “It’s all right, Harry.”

“But—“

“We can arrange a deal based solely on both our personal friendship and the friendly relations between our agencies. We didn’t _have_ to get hitched, you know.” 

Harry gapes. “But this was Merlin’s idea!”

“It was a _suggestion_ ,” Merlin groans. “I never explicitly told you that you had to get _married,_ for fuck’s sake.”

 _“What?”_ Eggsy suddenly exclaims, then flushes dark red when the attendees look in his direction. “This was some—some _contract_ sort of thing? Not because…” 

“What did you think?” Harry asks, heart pounding when Eggsy steps out onto the aisle, _something_ dawning on his face. “Did you—”

“Wait, wait,” Eggsy says quickly, holding up both his hands. “Um, Gianna, do you…do you love him?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” Gianna scoffs, causing another round of gasps. “He’s like a brother to me. I just thought, well, here’s a chance to get his head out of his arse.” She turns to Merlin. “And you’re not blameless, either. You told Eggsy Harry was getting married, but you didn’t tell him  _why_ , did you?”

Merlin sputters. “It wasn’t like that at all! He ran off because I could explain—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Roxy impatiently calls from her seat, “do you two bloody love each other or not?” 

Eggsy’s face now resembles an overripe tomato, and Harry’s sure his own face isn’t any better. But Eggsy walks down the rest of the way, stopping right at the bottom of the steps of the stage, and says, “Yes. I…I really fancy you, Harry Hart.” 

Harry steps forward and takes both of his hands. “I really fancy you as well, Eggsy Unwin,” he says, then pulls him onto the platform. 

Right in front of the stunned minister, the amused bride, and the gathering of murmurs and laughter, Eggsy kisses him. 

Harry reciprocates, seeing out of the corner of his eye Roxy taking photos, with Percival with his hand over his mouth, failing to hide a smirk. He’s never going to hear the end of this, but it doesn’t stop him from pulling Eggsy in closer, practically lifting him off his feet. 

He’s never thought he could have this, truly, but now, Harry wonders how he could have never tried. 

When they finally break apart to cheers and applause, Harry says, “You’re moving back in, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.” Eggsy grins. “This is going to be an interesting story to explain to Mum, but yes. If you want.” 

“I do. But…” Harry hears Gianna quietly groan, but continues, “I’m not going to be easy to live with. And I’m…”

Eggsy shakes his head, surely anticipating the ugly things Harry wants to say. “I won’t have you any other way. If…you’ll also have me?” 

He stares up at Harry, lips slightly parted, waiting. 

“I do,” Harry says.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr.


End file.
